Tiny Miracles

By Alison Swanitz

Brief prose on autism & smiles

It was the last lesson on a Saturday afternoon in June 2018 when I realized I was working with a little autistic girl who was only five at the time but was notoriously strong-willed. She never smiled, or laughed, and when she wasn’t screaming “No!” and flailing her arms as whatever poor volunteer had to attempt gently guide her up the mounting block without injuring her, she preferred to remain mute, covering her ears and closing her eyes to tune out what the instructor was saying. We decided to take the girl—out of respect for the program and the girl her name is omitted—on her very first trail ride. As the day seemed to be a day of firsts, we got to hear her laugh for the first time, when a foal whinnied as we passed by. Small miracles like that happen all the time at the Therapeutic Riding Program; that's what it’s all about, but until I felt the feeling of her mother's arms wrapped around me, thanking us again and again, for helping her little girl to smile, I never appreciated them. What seems small and insignificant to you could mean the world to someone else. From that day on I learned just how much I love volunteering. I learned that I love the glimmer of pride in a parent’s eyes when they witness another first for their baby they thought would never happen; I’ve learned that I love watching the students grow and improve, knowing that volunteers like me help them to do that; I’ve learned that I love all those tiny miracles.